Switchblade: Daughter Aboard the Nemisis
by Zeitlose Alters
Summary: Knock Out and Breakdown have a daughter. But, thats easier said than done when war comes between trying to raise a family. Rating for later chapters.
1. Prologue

**alright yall it's been a while since I've written for tfp but I'm back. Also this is my first story containing an OC (so please bear with me cuz I'm new to that category). This is just the prologue but the other chapters will be longer. It follows the plot line/episodes of tfp with some other stff thrown in. So here we go**

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><p>It wasn't noticeable at all for the first week. Even Knock Out—in all his skilled medical expertise—failed to see it. It wasn't until he woke up one morning to find Breakdown puking in washroom and the ever-so-slight bulge in his abdomen that the medic finally got a clue.<p>

"Breakdown...you are? Really? You're really carrying?"

"I was saving it, ya' know? It was gonna be a surprise."

Knock Out threw his arm around his partner in a spring of happiness and found himself dragging the blue mech over to the medbay for examination—jamming him into the scanner for every test he could run. It took a couple of hours, but finally, the medic let him up. They were going to have a daughter.

...

"C'mon, Breakdown. Just need one more push. Okay? C'mon," he was halfway up his forearm in his bondmate's port, a place he never thought he'd be.

Breakdown groaned, but obeyed—feeling Knock Out's hands gently guiding their newborn daughter out as he put every ounce of strength into the last delivery. The tension eased off. Then he heard the most beautiful thing: a sparkling begin to cry. The blue mech let out a long awaited sigh of happiness while the medic began to clean her off.

"Hey, can I see her?" Breakdown asked, relaxing back into the berth.

Knock Out's expression dropped a little, "uh...yeah. Yeah."

"What? What is it? What's wrong?" worry rose behind the bruiser's voice. He propped himself on his elbows, "Knock Out?"

"She's a seeker," he said, overwhelmingly surprised and settled their sparkling into his bondmate's arms, "our daughter is a...a seeker."

"So? She's beautiful."

The newborn had stopped crying and reached up, grasping at the air vaguely. She was covered in dark plating, aside from her pale grey faceplate. Her black pedes were flat (which was odd for a femme to not have struts)—a couple of silver stripes across each—and had a hollow heel. Her grey legs tapering into a black bikini-like shape. A slender silver waist led into her small, black breast plates that complemented her slender figure; fading evenly into her simple shoulder struts. The simple black helm splayed back into an even point. Black and silver wings stretched out from between her shoulder—the larger, main wings raising and lowering excitedly while the smaller, secondary wings twitching as much as they could. She had bright red optics that switched between both of her fathers.

"Primus, she looks just like you," Breakdown cooed softly, "what should we name her?"

Knock Out sat on the edge of the berth and put an arm around his partner "since she's _your_ daughter she'll need something tough. But, since she's _my_ daughter she'll need something elegant," he held a digit out a few inches above the sparkling's hands; her tiny hands grabbing it as she giggled quietly.

"I like 'Switchblade'."

"Hmm..." the sports car thought for a moment whether or not he agreed with the name, "odd name for a young femme. But I kinda like it. Switchblade."

...

"Okay, keep those optics closed. Just a little further," Breakdown urged excitedly—tugging gently on their daughters left hand.

"Ugh, guys," Switchblade groaned; her free hand over her optics as she walked—thumping her pedes as she went to exaggerate her thoughts, "I've seen this forest a thousand times. Nothing in it is going to surprise me."

Switchblade—in human years—was about thirteen. She still had another good growth spurt in her, but her wings had matured almost fully: reaching a span about four or five feet each (the secondary tail fins were about two or three feet each). Now the wings were able to support flight. Knock Out was a few feet ahead of them, weaving in between the trees along the edge of the forest.

He held a hand up for the other two to stop walking, "oh-oh, this is it! Okay...Switchblade, you're thirteen cycles old, and as such we have decided that you should stop relying on your boosters for flight and receive a proper altmode."

He side stepped out of the way of a small clearing where a small fighter jet was centered. Switchblade's mouth dropped open and her wings fluttered behind her. She squealed with happiness before throwing her arms around both her fathers.

"But, you might want to hurry," Breakdown pointed out beneath his daughter's questioningly strong grip, "it's supposed to be at back some human's military base three miles away."

"Oh...right. Well then," she let go and stepped into the open area.

A grid pattern glazed over her optics and projected across the fighter jet; picking up the place of every little strut, wing, and flap. The schematics flashed once through her processor before the holographic grid pulled back and her optics returned to normal. She turned back around and nodded at the two mechs, who nodded back in unison. The femme turned around and closed her eyes. She felt her plates shifting and folding in on themselves; then she shot up into the air as a black fighter jet—yelling and whooping as much as her vocals would allow.

_So this is flying. I could get used to this whole 'seeker' business, _she thought ecstatically, almost in awe of herself as she watched her internal altimeter soar past ten-thousand feet.

...

Switchblade walked into the main section of the medbay, her wings sticking up as high as they could go—adding a note of fervor to her otherwise nervous air, "hey, Dad? Can I ask you something? It's kind of important."

Knock Out stood next to the somewhat comatose body of Megatron, tapping away on a datapad, "hm?"

By now, Switchblade was the Cybertronian equivalent of a seventeen-year-old. She was tall for a femme, and would probably stay that way, though still being a couple inches smaller than Knock Out. Her wings had fully matured: each one reaching about six or seven feet from her back, with the tail fins at about four feet each (the other day she caught Starscream eyeing her wings as if he was making sure they were "seeker-worthy". She was unaware anyone knew until later that day, when the aerial commander showed up in the medbay with some familiar hammer-shaped dents he needed removed).

"It's just...well...it occurred to me...the other day I was thinking...uh, I want to get an insignia," she said it fast, like it needed to be over with quickly.

The CMO almost dropped the tablet when his helm shot up and he gave his daughter one of those What-Gave-You-That-Idea-type look that every father does, "wha—what? Where is this coming from?"

"I'm old enough. And I'm the only one on this whole ship that doesn't! Commander Starscream said that—"

"Alright, alright!" he pinched the bridge of his nose (at least the part of his helm that served as one), "go...get on the table."

Switchblade laid down on the other spare table while Knock Out fished around for the detailing welder and the metal base, while muttering "I'm having a talk with a specific _Co_mman_der_ later" under his breath. When he found them—conveniently in the last place he looked—he went over to the table and input a quick code. Some loose restraints formed around the base and tip of her wings—gently holding them in place so they wouldn't move too much. Knock Out put the small metal square over an empty spot on the young femme's left wing. He clicked the detailer on and began cutting the small square. He noticed Switchblade trying to hide multiple winces while the sensitive wing tried to flinch away from under his hand.

"It will sting a little," his voice was soft and a tiny part apologetic, "try not to move to much, though."

Switchblade nodded, but continued to watch as he finished the top two points and moved to cut out the narrow eyes—discarding the scraps of metal into a small bin. The detailed cut out a thin point and bowed out to the side, up, down to the corner, stop; clear out the scraps, next side, up, down to the corner, stop, clear out the scraps, and straighten out any curved edges. Knock Out took another small sheet and walked around to the other side to repeat the process on the other wing. It was quicker this time.

"Alright, just lie there for a little bit and let those cool. Your wings'll be sore for a few days, but you can still fly."

_Now my daughter is officially a Decepticon. Yay. One more thing I don't want her to be a part of._

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><p><strong>The cover image for this story is what Switchblade is supposed to look like.<strong>

**{I'm not that good of an artist tbh, sorry}**


	2. Deus Ex Machina—Patrol Duty

**yeah that was a shooort prologue, it was just supposed to be like a mini-montage. But the cover is what I planned Switchblade of look like (I'm not that great of an artist, sorry). I based her off of Arcee's design if your wonder why she may look a little "familiar" as far as frame goes. ****Anyways...this story is supposed to follow the original tfp show to the best of my abilities. **

**and for future reference: **

_-comm link dialogue-_

{Bumblebee's dialogue}

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><p>The bridge was ominous at best. The nighttime thunderstorm in the background didn't really help the mood any. Switchblade hated coming up here, but she followed behind her father. In the dim light, she could see Starscream standing at the end of the bridge and a shiver ran up her back, but she fought back the overwhelming urge to run away. The young femme felt his soul-burning gaze even through his back.<p>

"It's been a long time, Knock Out. I do not enjoy being kept waiting."

"Ah, it was a long drive, Starscream. I'm still picking bugs out of my grill," he plucked a dead mosquito off his chassis and flicked it aside.

"I've never understood why any self-respecting Decepticon would choose an automobile as a vehicle mode instead of flight," he side stepped the mech and glared at Switchblade with the smallest hint of lust behind his vivid optics. He stroked a claw down her left wing—stopping to trace the detail of her insignia, "like your dear daughter here. My, she's grown into quite the young femme since last I saw her."

Switchblade squirmed uncomfortably under the foreign touch, "I-I'm scheduled to clean the—uh—the lab, today, uh, Lord Starscream," she ducked away and walked towards the door: arms hugged across her chest and wings tilting down as she did, "I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse me."

Knock Out glared at the commander, "don't ever touch my daughter like that again...in fact, I want you nowhere near her. If this happens again I'll drive right off this warship and you can kiss my aft goodbye!" he took a brief pause and collected himself—though still extremely enraged, "this had better be good."

...

He stepped into the medbay absolutely appalled. Lord or not, Starscream had no right to touch her like that. It was unprofessional, uncouth, despicable, and absolutely inappropriate. It wasn't the first time, though. Starscream was alway staring at her with lust filled stare; or trying to touch her when no one was around. It was disgusting and low. Low even for Starscream. He walked past the door to his and Breakdown's quarters and heard some quiet talking on the other side; he pushed the button for it to open and all but stormed in—flailing his hands angrily.

"Breakdown, I'm glad your back. Honestly, I have had it with Starscream. You will never—" he saw what was happening and his anger dropped completely, "oh. I see you've heard. "_  
><em>

Switchblade was sitting in the middle of their berth: knees curled up to her chest with her arms wrapped around the top, face buried into her elbows, and her wings down so far they scratched against the berth. Breakdown was sitting on the edge next to her; a hand on her back, and gently stroking back and forth with his thumb. Knock Out went over and sat down across from the two.

"About earlier, sweetie, look, I—"

"You don't have to say it, I already know. You're sorry it happened again, there's nothing you can do about it for now even though you would like to, and you and Dad have a mission to go on. I heard the coordinates arrive," Switchblade looked up from her ball. Her usual vibrant red optics were somewhat clouded over, showing that recently she was crying, "you guys can go. I'll set the code for the doors. I'll have my blasters."

Breakdown motioned for him and Knock Out to step aside and they stepped out of the room for a moment, "Knock Out, I say we take her with us on this one. It's just robbing a museum. She's ready to start fighting."

The red mech switched his concerned gaze back on his daughter, "but she shouldn't have to. What if something happens and she gets hurt? Or worse? "

"We'll be right there with her. Besides...she _can_ fly."

Knock Out let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose (or rather, the small dip in his helm that served as one) and walked over the berth. He sat down in front of his daughter, "do you...want to come with us?"

Switchblade looked up and smiled a cocky, one-sided, smile.

...

_–Just keep circling until you see the signal. Don't engage until we engage.–_

_–I'm just up here.-_

Switchblade continued circling over the area, somewhat satisfied with the fact that her dark color scheme blended with the night sky. Down below she saw the red Aston Martin pull up next to a semi. Nothing happened for a few seconds; then she watched the blue bruiser fire a missile. The semi transformed into a tall mech and attempted to catch the shot.

_Holy frag, _she thought as she began to descend. Knock Out jammed the electro-prod into the Autobot's neck and stood on the stunned body; flashing his headlight, _show time._

_-Switchblade, the motorcycle's all yours_- Breakdown offered as he let Bumblebee collide with Arcee behind him.

Arcee stood up off the pavement and popped the blades out of her forearms. Switchblade transformed a few feet from the blue femme and kicked her in the face with her pedes—sending both of them skidding across the pavement. Arcee jumped back up and ran at the young seeker—blades poised; the seeker summoned her blasters (they looked ironically similar to Arcee's only smaller) and began shooting an array at the blue femme. A couple shots grazed her, but she acted unaffected. Arcee came up close and began sending slashes at Switchblade, who was trying with every circuit in her frame to black and dodge each one. But Arcee took notice and placed a pede behind the seeker's and tripped her. As she fell backwards, the blue femme landed a small cut on her wing before letting her hit the ground with a small yelp and driving off. Switchblade stood up slowly and wiped a small trail of Energon off her wing, thankful neither of her fathers had noticed. Above her, Soundwave flew away, the Harvester in tow. Knock Out and Breakdown ran over to her and she tilted her wings down halfway trying to hide where she had been cut.

"You were doing pretty good out there," Breakdown smiled, patting her on the shoulder.

"You're not hurt are you?" Knock Out ran his eyes over her frame.

"No. I'm fine, but we probably should get back," her pleasant tone faded out to nervousness and worry, "Starscream hates being kept waiting. I'll wait by the GroundBridge for you," she turned around, resumed her jet mode, and followed behind Soundwave.

"It makes me sick seeing how Starscream treats her," Breakdown all but growled, "I'm kicking his aft tonight."

...

They stepped out of the ground bridge into the excavation site. Starscream was prattling on while Breakdown and Knock Out stood to the side—Switchblade standing behind the pair.

"Thanks to this gift, courtesy of ancient Autobots!"

"Uh, actually it was a gift from _us," _Knock Out shot back sarcastically.

Starscream pointed the Harvester at the trio. Breakdown took a defensive stance in front of his daughter, should he need to fight the commander. The gold sphere shot out a blue ray—both mechs ducked out of the way, the bruiser shielding the young femme with his back—and hit a Vehicon. Energon gushed out of his plating, following the beam back to the Harvester. Breakdown put a hand over Switchblade's optics, whispering for her not to watch as the Vehicon was drained before them. The trooper asphyxiated into a choked silence as he hit the ground.

"All that Energon...in such a tiny vessel."

"Yeah, they never missed a trick, _Lord_ Starscream," Knock Out quipped.

Behind them, a loud ricochet of breaking glass. Autobots. Breakdown brought out his hammer and broke off to the left while Knock Out broke to the right spinning the electro-prod. Switchblade tranformed and jumped into the sky. The Autobot was large, Bulkhead if she recalled. He ducked down and Breakdown ended up hitting Knock Out in the jaw. She transformed again mid-free fall, hoping to kick him like she had kicked Arcee earlier. However, She didn't see the Autobot grab the electro-prod. When Switchblade was about a foot from kicking Bulkhead, he rammed the prod into the base of her neck. She hit the ground with a choked scream; twitching and seizing as hundreds of thousands of bolts armed with a couple powerful amps clawed through her body. She tried to reach up to pull it out, but couldn't. A moment later, Knock Out was at her side and wrenching it out; Breakdown put his arms under her shoulders and helped her to her feet. She put an arm around both of them to steady herself. In the sky, an immense blue explosion rocked the ground as the Harvester was destroyed. Three more vehicles sped towards them. More Autobots.

"I-I can make it back to the ship. I'll be able to fly. I'm alright," she assured them shakily before taking flight herself and following Starscream's contrail. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her fathers drive off the scene.

That was a lie. She was barely able to stay in the air, let alone look unaffected. Her wing still hurt (hurt was an understatement; it burned. It wasn't too deep, but it was deep enough that some of the highly sensitive wiring was exposed, and the wind whipping across them only made it worse) from whee Arcee had cut her earlier, along with various other nicks and abrasions across her frame that stung against the sharp winds. She still felt the biting aftershock of the electro-prod, which had left her dizzy and barely able to keep her balance. She tried to fly straight but still teetered slightly.

_ -Switchblade-_ Starscream's voice was sharp, with a note of mock concern _-has__ the recent assault had any ill effects on you?-_

_-No, Lord Starscream. I'm fine.-_

_-Then quit flying like your inebriated!- _he snapped angrily.

She was trying. Fly in a straight line, avoid dipping, don't tilt. When they landed on the flight deck, Switchblade felt every optic on the ship—especially Starscream's—glaring into her back and she walked back to the medbay: arms hugged against her chassis and wings tilted down once more. The hallways were nearly empty, thankfully, aside from the occasional trooper asking if she was alright. A simple "yes, thank you" seemed to work well enough. When she came to the lab's doors, she paused for a minute and took a deep breath before entering. Knock Out was pacing the room, with Breakdown leaning against the wall trying to calm him down. They both froze and snapped their attention to her when they heard the door.

"I was _worried_! Next time just let us bridge you back!" Knock Out snapped lovingly and wrapped his arms around her, "you really take after your father."

"I'm alright. Really—ah," she hissed in pain. Her knee was killing her. _Great._

That's when Breakdown noticed the cut on her wing...and the one on her shoulder...and her favoring her left leg. He picked her up bridal-style and sat her down on the edge of one of the tables, "no, you're not 'fine'."

Knock Out pulled a cart over and began to work. First, pulling out a small icepack from a drawer, shaking it to activate it, and handing it to Switchblade; who held it to her left knee. He pulled the surgical welder down from the ceiling cables and gingerly began to close the cut on her shoulder. She didn't move, but every so often she would wince quietly. Honestly she felt stupid: making a fuss out of little scrapes she could just as easily closed herself with what medical training she was taught.

"You'll need to lie back for this one," Knock Out instructed softly and caring.

Switchblade obeyed, setting the ice pack down on the cart. The red mech tapped in a command at a small panel near the table. It tilted back to a forty-five degree angle amd some loose restraints held her wing in place. A precaution—she was taught—since seeker's wing are highly sensitive, and will move involuntarily. When the wings needed to be worked on, they were often restrained loosely. Knock Out brought the welder down, held the split metal together, and began rejoining it. She tried not to scream with the pain; instead she squeezed at the table.

"Oh, this must be awkward...preforming medical procedures on your own daughter," Starscream mused crassly from where he was leaning on the doorway.

In an instant Breakdown grabbed the commander by the throat and shoved him into the wall, "if you **_ever_** come anywhere near my daughter again, I'm going to personally grind that spark of yours into scrap. _Do I make myself clear?_"**_  
><em>**

"Y-Yes, but if...I were you...I would mind m-my place," he choked before being thrown on the ground and crawling out of the lab.

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><p>The other night still reeled through Switchblade's mind. She hadn't seen Starscream at all in three days, but she still felt his eyes on her. He was stalking her, but it was second-hand. He had taken her fathers out on a mission and they had returned with various claw scratches littering their paint; occasionally she would notice Soundwave following her for a while before reporting back to the bridge. Usually going flying at night made her feel better. No less stressed than earlier, she landed on the flight deck and walked back to the lab. This time she walked casually, her wings up in air nonchalantly, her digits tapping lightly at her sides as she walked. The door slid open and she strolled in; Breakdown was running a rotary buffer along Megatron's comatose chassis.<p>

"Hey. How was your flight?"

"Good. Where's Dad?" her shoulders dropped a little with slight irritation, "he's not street racing again is he?"

"Mhmm," he nodded half-heartedly.

Switchblade sighed lightly. _One of these days he's gonna get himself into some serious trouble with the human authorities and I'll be sitting back laughing. _The main door slid open and Knock Out walked—no, stormed—in grumbling furiously about how some human had keyed a line through the paint on one of his doors. Neither of the other two paid any attention to the story until he mentioned running the guy off a cliff.

"Knock Out, you what?!" Breakdown's tone was an evident mix of both shock and awe.

"A little _extreme_ don'tcha think?" Switchblade had her hands on her hips, like a mother who had just found out her children had egged thier math teacher's house.

The sports car was already rubbing the scratch out with some hood wax and a colth befrore he quietly disappeared into his quarters for a moment, "he scratced my paint, I scratched his."

The main door slid open again and Starscream walked in, slowly, as if calculating what was going to happen next. Then whole room tensed; Switchblade stood still and the commander ignored her presence like a bored animal walking by a rock.

"Ah, Breakdown, has there been any change in Lord Megatron's condition?"

The bruiser shrugged, "only cosmetic."

"Yes, well," Starscream was oddly calm and collected, "I'm sure you and the good doctor are doing everything in your power. Speaking of...where is Knock Out?"

The CMO reappeared in the door way and slowly approached the small scene, "would you believe what some skinjob did to me? Ugh..."

_Here we go again, _Switchblade thought and held a hand over her mouth to hide her quiet giggling. She swore she could see the edge of Starscream's optic twitch. It was amusing to see the two argue, actually. She zoned them out and just focused on how snappy the red mech was; how audacious and complacent he was when standing up to a commanding officer. The sudden presence passing next to her startled her out of her train of thoughts.

Starscream cleared his throat, declaring his presence in an exasperated fashion, "Swtichblade."

"Wha—huh? Oh...Lord Starscream."

He sneered before walking out of the lab, to which Knock Out gave a hearty "Buff this!" to the commander's back.

Breakdown elbowed him in the side, "hey! Language."

...

Patrol duty...of all the boring, low-grade, things Starscream had ever assigned her to, patrol duty was the absolute dullest. Walking around the perimeter of an Energon mine for four hours waiting for something to happen. She couldn't even hold up a conversation with anyone—and the Vehicons were no help. The sun had set a little while ago and now it was almost pitch black outside the mine, aside from the dim glow of blasters and optics, the quiet moonlight, and the faint glow of Energon.

_-Hey, Switchblade__- _Breakdown came through her comm, his tone a mix of alarm and irritation _-we're picking up a few Autobot signals nearby.__-_

She looked over her shoulder at the tree line on the hill above her and saw three figures walking away from a fading ground bridge._ -yeah, I see them.-_

_-Want backup?-_

She transformed her hands into her blasters,_ -no. I'll manage.-_

_-Be careful, sweetie.- _Breakdown said lovingly—yet nontheless concerned—before disconnecting the line.

Switchblade pressed her back to the side of the rock face and prepared to fight. Her spark started pounding nervously. The last time she tried fighting the Autobots, it hadn't exactly gone so well. If these were the same two she had go up against last week, she was definitely, thouroghly screwed. She took a composing breath, raised her blasters, and stepped out from behind her hiding spot. The main cavern of the cave was empty...almost. The six-high stacks of Energon still remained undisturbed (save for a few that had toppled over), but then she noticed all the scattered Vehicons. Probably ten or eleven corpses scattered the cavern, various blaster and blade marks coverd the bodies.

_Oh no...notgoodnotgoodnotgood,_ she thought as her breathing quickened and her blasters began to hum quietly.

Switchblade picked up on some quiet voices in the next cavern and hid against the wall. Two voices—she recognized them from before: Bulkhead and Arcee—and a series of beeps and whirs she could only guess was the infamous Bumblebee. _Scrap_. The way she saw it, Switchblade had three options: she could call for backup and be yelled at by Starscream for being too weak to fight; she could call for an emergency ground bridge back to the ship and be yelled at by Starscream for running from a fight and letting thier Energon spoils be stolen; or she could try to fight, most likely lose, and then be yelled at by Starscream for not calling for backup and letting the enemy take the spoils. But, at lest if she fought, she could at least use that as leverage...which was better than nothing. So, Switchblade took a deep sigh and readied her blasters. She stepped out from behind the wall and aimed her blasters at...an empty cavern.

"What the..?"

Behind her, someone cleared their throat. She turned around just in time for one of Arcee's fists to knock her out.

...

Her helm hurt. Bad. The kind of radiating, pounding, pulse that would continue to ache for a few days. She opened her optics slowly—relieved to see she was still in the cavern—but winced at the surprising brightness. _Uh great. I'm gonna have a hard time explaining this._

{Hey, she's awake.}

Switchblade sat up against the rock wall, only to find her wrists and, regrettably, her wings bound behind her back. What was she going to do? Fly away? Arcee walked up to her and eyed her cautiously, one of her hands on her hip, the other transformed into a blaster and resting down at her side. If Switchblade said she wasn't scared, she'd be lying. She was curling up against the wall as much as she could, her wings trying to tilt downwards against the restraints; every time one of the Autobots so much as twitched, she would flinch.

"I remember you," Arcee finally broke the silence, "you're the femme from the museum. But I haven't seen you before. What's your name?"

Switchblade's voice caught in her throat and her optics darted back and forth between Arcee, who was standing like any soldier would, and Bumblebee who was standing there casually, yet still with his guard up. She felt her chest tighten up with nerves

"Um, Switchblade. It's Switchblade."

Bulkhead stepped up, "I overheard some stray radio chatter about a seeker named Switchblade. But—nah," he started chuckling quietly.

{Bulk, what is it?}

"She's...oh you're gonna love this...she's Knock Out and Breakdown's daughter!"

Arcee sighed exasperatedly, "scrap. Ratchet, we need a bridge. And somewhere to keep a prisoner."

If her optics weren't wide before, then they certainly were now. The ground bridge opened a few meter in front of them; Arcee pulled Switchblade up and pushed her towards the bridge.

"Wait-Wait, nononononono, please," the seeker pleaded, too scared to physically resist.

However, the second her pede hit the bottom of the portal, Switchblade found herself unable to speak. The blaster in between her wings and the prospect of being captured by the enemy had her on the verge of panicking. She was prodded through into the Autobot base and her mouth gaped. Optimus walked up to her, she could see three humans on a scaffolding, and another Autobot in the back.

"Oh no," Switchblade whispered before passing out on the floor.

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><p><strong>Alright well I hope this first chapter didn't turn out too bad. Im working on chapter 2 as quick as I can so...tbc<strong>


	3. Prison Break

**Alright so here's chapter two. Hope you all enjoyed chapter one, and a huge thank you to all the followers/favoriters. **

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><p>"Starscream! You are not listening!" Knock Out yelled, enraged, "we have to do something!"<p>

The commander shrugged, "dear doctor...the Autobots have Switchblade. There's nothing to be done. But why don't you put that mind of yours to good use?"

Once the commander had stepped out of the medbay, Knock Out slammed a fist down on the table. This was exactly what he was afraid of! The day she asked for that insignia he knew this would happen, and guess what? He was right...he could imagine it now: Switchblade cuffed to a table with wires and prods sticking out of her while those sadistic glitches dicked around with her internals. Breakdown came up behind him and put his hands on the CMO's shoulders. Knock Out gave a long sigh and turned around in the bruiser's arms—resting his head on Breakdown's chestplate.

"Switchblade is a strong femme. She can take care of herself for a couple days. The Autobots are a lot of things, but they don't just murder bots for no reason," when the red mech stayed silent, he continued, "we'll figure something out. Maybe we'll try one of those old comm tricks and lure 'em out somewhere."

Knock Out squeezed his arms lightly around Breakdown's middle—burying his face against the familiar blue chassis, "I hope she's alright. If something happens to her, if they hurt her or do anything to her...Breakdown, I—"

"Hey," the bruiser looked down and took Knock Out's helm in his hands, "we'll get her back. I promise," he laid a light, comforting kiss on the top of the red mech's helm, "we'll get her back."

...

"Switchblade? Can you hear me?"

She didn't recognize the voice, and the flashlight shining directly into her optics wasn't exactly helping. Where even was she? This wasn't the mines, nor the Nemesis. In the near distance, she could hear more voices. The patterned beeping she knew was familiar, though from where she couldn't place. She opened her optics, gingerly at first—wincing at bright flood from the darting flashlight—then she bolted them open. She remembered now: getting taken by the Autobots. She was sitting in the corner of (what was presumably) a prison cell, though it looked more like a reinforced garage port, with (who was presumably) Ratchet standing over her. The "cell" was barren; the concrete floor and walls, and the menacing presence of the heavy, barred steel door. All the other Autobots, and the three humans, stood around the doorway. When her wings tried calibrating, she found the restraint removed, but her hands were still cuffed in front of her.

"Switchblade?" the red and white medic asked again.

Her frightened gaze locked onto a syringe poorly hidden in the nearby medical kit. She could see its contents: thick, syrupy, blue-grey liquid filled to the halfway line. Her father was the Chief Medical Officer aboard the Nemesis warship, she had practically been raised in a medbay...and she knew a sedative when she saw one. _Okay, think...its blue-grey like all the other sedatives...no bubbling, _Switchblade angled her head so the liquid caught the light_, green tint went lit...scrap!_ She recognized the drug as one of the heavier sedatives the medbay stocked; only used for extreme sedation, if even used at all.

"Get away from me!" she panicked and kicked him away. There was the sharp sound of readying blasters, and she threw her arms in front of her face, "I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! Please don't kill me. I'll do whatever you want just..." her voice cracked and she felt ashamed for showing vulnerability (if Strscream found out, he'd never let her live it down), "...just don't...don't kill me..."

"We are not going to kill you," Optimus stepped into the cell, while Ratchet stood and backed out quietly, "but there are some questions I'd like to ask of you."

Switchblade lowered her arms, but still tried to avoid eye contact with the Prime and found looking down at her cuffs seemed to work. She knew she was being interrogated. Of course she knew, she had been interrogated hundreds of times by her fathers if she wanted to do anything or go anywhere (or really any other type of standard parental questioning); by Starscream when he would quiz her on when she was ready to "fully join the Decepticon cause"; and the few times she had met Megatron and he wanted to know her. From experience, she had figured out that the question that was almost always asked first was "What do you know/What can you tell us about..."

"I don't know anything," Switchblade prompted first, "at least not anything useful. Starscream doesn't like me going on missions after what happened on the last one. He doesnt tell me anything either...'fraid I'll get myself captured. Guess he was right," she gave a small chuckle at the irony in that statement.

She overheard the human girl talking to the older of the human boys, "I thought the 'Cons were supposed to be all tough and scary and _grrr_. She's like a scared little kitten."

"Miko," he elbowed her shoulder, "she's probably terrified out of her mind, give her a break. God, she looks so young."

Optimus must've heard them to, "I apologize if we are frightening you. Perhaps some time alone might help. Arcee, you are in charge of guarding our guest," the way he phrased it was a paradox. Usually that strain of words was condescending, cold, unwelcoming; but the way the Prime said it made the situation ease down. His tone was calm, collected, and earnest...regardless, it did nothing to comfort her nerves.

Optimus, followed by the rest of the Autobots and humans departed. The door closed and the cell was painted in the rectangular shadows of the door. Switchblade curled up in the corner to the best of her abilities and mulled in her mind over how her fathers were probably fifty shades of worried and just general anger. She could see Knock Out pacing the lab, fretting like always. And then she thought of Starscream. How he'd yell at her, call her a "useless waste of a Seeker", or maybe this was the time he slapped her. And she cringed at that thought. She couldn't do anything about it now, and it didn't seem like she was going anywhere soon. Switchblade leaned against the wall and tried for some decent recharge.

...

When Switchblade woke up, she was greeted by the harsh cacophony of grinding gears as the barred door pulled up. Arcee was standing in the middle of the doorframe, blasters down at her hips—thought no doubt ready to use them if the opportunity presented itself. Ratchet stepped forward from behind the blue femme, the syringe from before in hand. He knelt down by the young Seeker curled up in the corner of her cell and tried to be as gentle as possible when he reached for her arm. She watched, paralyzed by the fact that this Autobot medic was about to inject her with such a large dose of such a heavy sedative.

"Wait, what are you doing?!" she protested, thought it sounded more like a strained plea.

The needle was already in her vein—the thick liquid creeping its way up her arm into her system. The immediate wave of drowsiness was coming quicker than she anticipated.

"I'm giving you a dose of traichiogon," he said, quietly, matter-of-factly...and with the tiniest note of apology.

"I know...that," Switchblade slurred against the drug, trying to get as much said as she could while the sleepy pitch began to wrap itself around her processor, "but...why...not that much of it—"

She sagged against the wall as the syringe was plucked from her arm. Ratchet, sighed to himself before standing and walking out of the cell. _So young. She doesn't deserve any of this._

...

The closing of the ground bridge woke her up. Followed by piercing silence. Silence that didn't belong. She opened her optics and the first thing she noticed what how dark her cell was. There was a second, thicker door over the bars from before. Her red optics panned around the room and she tried to stand up—despite the protesting from her sore limbs; the vein in her arm was still prickling and the whole arm itself felt heavy and tight. There was an awkward yet familiar weight around her wings. _Not again_, Switchblade looked over her shoulder at the previously acquainted restraint. She took a step forward towards the door, but not without the clinking of chains being pulled taught that ricochetted throughout the concrete room. She looked down at the cuffs on her wrist: a thick iron chain ran from the center of the cuffs to a bracket on the wall. The Seeker pulled herself up the her feet—trying to steady herself against the sudden wave of dizziness that flushed over her. The dosage of that sedative was way to high for someone of her frame. It wasn't enough to overdose...but it was enough to keep her under for a good while. She stood on the tips of her pedes and craned her neck to look out the small slits along the top of the second door; pulling as far away as the chains allowed her. The base was empty. Lonely.

"Hello?" she called, praying inside that someone would answer instead of the silence she had received. Being left alone was one thing she didn't want. Her voice began to crack over the lump that formed in her throat, "somebody?...Anybody?"

When there was no answer, she couldn't help herself. Switchblade's knees hit the floor, and she cupped a hand over her mouth—trying to quiet the sobs that no one was around to hear. Never in her life had she ever wanted her fathers more. Here she was, bound and chained to a wall in the dark. If Breakdown were here, he'd tell her to break out. To pull against the chains until they snapped, to squirm out of her restraints, and to smash through the doors. _Breaking out..., _Switchblade wiped the coolant tears from her eyes and brought herself to her feet. She was a Decepticon...not some little sparkling. She could break out of here no problem. And if breaking a few chains was all it took so be it. She faced the wall the chains were bolted to, wrapped the links around her wrists once or twice, and pulled. Beneath her heels, she felt the concrete crack and the metal groan. If she couldn't break the chain, she might as well pull it from the wall. Switchblade wrapped the chain once more around her forearm and yanked back as hard as she could. The links gave one final creak before giving way. In a cloud of concrete dust, one of the chain links snapped—sending Switchblade sprawling backwards into the ground. She sat up in the rubble, holding her breath waiting for one of the Autobots to storm in and shoot her. But nothing happened. Switchblade looked down at the half broken chain—a smile gracing over her lips at the small victory. Unfortunately, her real obstacle was those two doors.

"When in doubt, kick it out," she whispered to herself.

She took a step forward and knocked on the outer, solid door with her knuckles. Surprisingly, it wasn't as thick as it looked. The bars, were another story. She out all her weight on her left foot, and just like Breakdown showed her, leaned back on her left her and brought her right leg up—sent her strongest kick at the metal. Her pede resounded with the impact, but she managed to leave a hefty dent in both doors. Switchblade aimed to kick again; all the weight on her back, left foot and raised her right—putting every last ounce of strength into it. Once more, her pede made sharp contact with the metal, and the pressure broke a small hole in the doors. There was most definitely a bruise on her leg, but that didn't matter to her right now. She approached the broken metal, gauging whether of not she could squeeze through or not. With some bending of the edges, it was soon big enough to where she could squeeze through with effort. Switchblade put her arms through first—finding out firsthand how hard it was to crawl with cuffs on. She managed to twist her shoulders through...however, the angle at which she had to pull her wings through warranted a few choice words. But once her wings were free, her legs slid through the opening easy enough and she flopped onto the floor like a fish.

_-Dad? Dad, can you guys hear me?-_

Static. No signal. Any comm signals were shielded. Switchblade wanted to cry again—but she couldn't now. Not when she could get out of here. She leaned on the wall as she slowly rose to her feet. If she could open the ground bridge, she might have a shot at leaving this place. The controls were archaic compared to what she was used to...and not too easy to work either. _Alrighty...bridge log, recent coordinates...the Arctic! Aha!_ She set it to close automatically and pulled the lever. The green portal opened near her and she ran through the swirling door. Her pedes crunched on the snow, and she shivered slightly while the ground bridge closed behind her. She looked up at the familiar black shape in the sky—thankful it was the Nemesis—the large ray of fire shooting off the bow was something new though. She tried Knock Out's comm channel.

_-Dad? Dad, please tell me your picking this up!-_

_-Switchblade?! Oh thank Primus your alright! Where are you?!-_

_-I don't know. I used the Autobots' arrival coordinates- _she picked up on the sound of clashing metal._  
><em>

Just then, Breakdown tumbled out from behind one of the glaciers—Bulkhead running after him with his hand-mace ready to swing. Breakdown rolled out of the way, but the green Autobot never struck. Instead he stared in shock and awe at Switchblade, who was standing before them.

"Hey! How'd you—"

"Switchblade!" the blue bruiser was barreling towards his daughter, completely disregarding his rival behind him.

He scooped the young femme in his arms, worried optics darting over the chain, the restraints, and her mildly shivering frame; hugging her to his chest and running towards the warship—yelling through his comm for an emergency ground bridge to the medbay. Behind them, Bulkhead stared in confusion whilst Arcee tried running after the bruiser—blasters armed and firing; unable to make a clear shot as Breakdown wove back and forth

_-Knock Out! I got Switchblade. Meet us in the medbay stat!-_

The ground bridge opened in front of them and the bruiser almost tripped going through it. Low and behold, the red mech ran in just as they did and when he saw Switchblade in his sparkmate's arms, he ram up and wrapped his arms around her.

"Oh, sweetie, what have they done to you?" his optics caught onto the thin line of dried Energon that had trickled down from the point on her arm where the syringe had been injected, "what did they pump into you?!"

Switchblade eased herself out of Breakdown's arms, standing on the floor with a nauseous stance, "a sedative; a heavy one. Traichiogon, half a vile," her tanks rolled in protest and she held a hand in front of her mouth at the rising bile inching up her throat—pointing with her other hand at a drainpan on a cart.

Without hesitation, Knock Out caught on and passed her the pan just before she heaved up the contents of her tanks into it. Breakdown guided her to sit down on the edge of the table, putting a hand on her shoulder while the smaller mech helped her hold up the pan—seeing as how the cuffs she still wore were no help—and rubbed small circles on her back. It wasn't hard to see the anger swelling up inside him like a storm cloud as he stood up and paced the room...once more.

"Knock Out...I know that look," the bruiser was treading on a minefield, "getting mad won't help anybody. Least of all Switchblade," he added the last part quietly before stroking his thumb along her shoulder.

"Mad is an understatement. Livid..._livid is more accurate_! Look at her! Half a syringe, Breakdown, do you know how much that is? That's borderline overdose! Another ounce and she'd be comatose, or in shock, or all manner of medically horrid other things! Those scrap-brained Autobots could've killed her! How long was she even out? An hour? A day? The whole time? I don't know—I certainly have no idea! And how do I know they didn't have her on an IV of liquid shrapnel?"

"Dad... stop," Switchblade looked up from the pan—wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand—voice raspy and slightly exasperated, "they didn't do anything like that."

"I'm sorry, sweetie," he came over and wrapped his arms around her, "I'm sorry. Breakdown get me the sharp-welder I've going to cut these restraints off her."

Breakdown took the half-vomit-filled drain pan with him—disposing of its contents in the incinerator—while going off to find the tool. Switchblade sat quietly on the table, to exhausted to do anything but wait patiently. When she heard that welder ignite, she let out the most relieved sigh she had let out in a long time—barely even paying attention when she vaguely heard "...get her wings first...". She felt the brief heat from the thin flame before there was the clash of the restraint dropping off onto the floor and her wings finally relaxed freely. It took a moment for the seeker's wings to calibrate, but eventually they slouched outward of their own will. Her optic lids were drifting closed—blurring everything into one rained-out collage. A familiar red figure stepped into her view and once more she felt the brief heat from the torch before relishing in the clattering of chain and cuff on the floor. Absent-mindedly, she rolled her wrists before welcoming the large blue arms that scooped her up bridal-style and liltingly carried her into her quarters and set her down on the berth. It wasn't even a few seconds before Switchblade gave into the haunting cloud of drowsiness that was trailing her, and she fell asleep almost instantaneously. Knock Out held a hand in front of Breakdown to keep him in the room; the bruiser looked at him confused.

"What is it?"

Knock Out moved a gentle hand to Switchblade's forehead, frowning worriedly, "she's really warm. Like, _fever _warm. Break—"

"I'm sure she's fine. She just needs to rest for a while. C'mon, lets leave her be," he had to pull the red mech out of the room in order for him to leave before shutting the door quietly.

* * *

><p><strong>btw...in case any of you were wondering, I made up the "traichiogon" sedative. I needed a name for it so I made one up on the spot.<strong>


End file.
